The Elements
by Troublesome Dragon
Summary: Each nation has the ability to control and master one element. Legend says, during each cycle, there will always be one who masters all four, but in order to keep balance, this gift must be passed down. There will be one who refuses to let go. This is his story.
1. On the Surface

On the Surface

Water has always been there, cutting through me with precision and grace. So cool, tender, and patient as it cycles and refreshes me. It is my life, my core, my everything. In retrospect, it's no surprise the water heeds my beck and call. I've no interest in the blood soaked ground or the unreachable sky, and fire brings nothing but pain.

I'm surrounded by water on all sides. Because of water, I am always alone, and yet, for that very reason, I am not a nation easily conquered. But, our relationship is tenuous at best as breakable as anything else. Controlling such a tireless force is draining, I can only do so much before I falter. Benders are not gods. We have limits. It's something the normal populace does not seem to understand.

Strange to see so many envy me for my perpetual youth and ability, I have never considered myself so lucky. England is a tiny island nation. I wasn't always so strong. If anyone asks me how I came to discover my affinity with water, I tell them the truth for my past is not a glamorous thing. My brothers let me drown. They didn't know I'd survive. If my destiny wasn't tied to water, maybe, I wouldn't have, but as it happened, my instincts kicked in, and I unceremoniously propelled myself out of the water with the crashing waves. I blacked out after that. To this day, my brothers will not tell me what happened, but they always look so frightened when I mention it. Their terror fills me with confidence, because I know there is something terrible inside me, and they will not risk bringing it out again.

None of that matters now though because I'm somewhere completely new and refreshing. The open air and thick luscious trees brings back memories of the old forests I used to dwell in as a child. London has been prospering and evolving at a magnificent rate, but I'm glad I can get away from the rat infested and often putrid smell of its streets. So far, the trip has been uneventful, but I know better than to let my guard down. France has been spotted nearby and the others shouldn't be too far behind. This land is not mine yet, but after seeing it for myself, I definitely plan to make it so. And, there is only one undisputed method for determining who gets the spoils. I have to find the child that calls this place home.

"Sir, we have been searching for hours. Perhaps, there is no child?" Roger says, still as polite and well-spoken as ever. I wish I could rule out the possibility. As annoying as a whinny brat would be, having to constantly deal with Francis and the others would be even worse. Sadly, there is little evidence of civilization here. Everything is mostly untouched with only a few scattered natives here and there. Maybe, there is no one but ourselves to claim it.

Unfortunately, Roger's well meaning inquiry spurs the much more vocal crew to action.

"If the lad were in the forest, we would have found the half-pint by now. I say we search the tavern," Jim shouts, raising his arm in air. The crew eagerly agrees, the promise of alcohol after a long trek highly appealing. I roll my eyes. Once again, the winning argument boils down to alcohol, typical.

"Yeah, we don't know if the colony is a child. She could be one of the local harlots," Daniel says. Right on cue, the crew whistles and cheers. And just like that, the men's minds have completely turned to sex and alcohol. Hmm . . . This really isn't a battle I can win, is it?

"Take the men back, Roger. I will continue alone."

I've no need for mortals. Their eyes will not catch the first signs of a master bender's strike, nor the pitter-patter of a child's footsteps who has spent all his or her life in the woods. I've experience in both areas. No matter who I face, I will be ready.

"But sir, surely you'll need other water benders with you," Roger says, daring to grab my shoulder and stop me. How bothersome, the old cabin boy hasn't learned his place yet. I slowly turn around. My eyes narrow like a snake's.

"Are you suggesting that I am not capable of beating a child?"

The crew is silent, and Roger is pale. The underlying threat is clear. There is only one right answer. Stiff as a board, he salutes and replies quickly.

"No sir."

I smirk. Good boy.

"Then go, I'll return to camp by nightfall," I say, mind on much more important things. The child could be anywhere, and we've had far too many false alarms already. I'll say one good thing about the savages. They produce a startling amount of benders for such an unorganized hopeless race. Then again, it doesn't surprise me that they have an affinity for_ dirt. _It suits them.

"Yes sir," Roger says, joining the boisterous crew who are more than ready to consume rum and chase harlots. He's a little shaken, but as my first mate, I can't have him acting like a sniffling child. Roger is a big boy now, not the pitiful rescue he used to be.

Satisfied my crew will be occupied elsewhere and not plotting a mutiny, I travel even further into the forest. The place is surprisingly easy to navigate and not as wild as I remember a forest should be. It is practically begging to be occupied.

I hear the sound of splashing and giggling nearby. Cautiously, I move closer to the clearing. Ah, there he is, a boy, alone in the woods just like I used to be. Thankfully, he seems to share the settlers' complexion. That makes things much less complicated.

"Hello, I'm Arthur. Who are you?" I ask, stepping forward. No sense potentially ambushing one of my people's children if I'm wrong. That would be hard to explain down the line. The child continues to giggle uncontrollably at me and walk on top of the water. I'm impressed in spite of myself. I don't know that trick.

"Who are you?" the child shouts back happily.

I chuckle. He doesn't seem very bright. This will be easy.

"I asked you first."

The child considers my answer very carefully, breaking his concentration. Without ever changing his expression, he slowly starts sinking into the water. It doesn't take him long to notice, and as soon as he does, he panics and unwittingly makes himself sink faster as he completely loses control of the water surrounding him. I grab the little squirt before he ends up drowning himself. Clinging to me, he pants and smiles.

"Thanks, concentration not so good" he says, still absently clutching my clothes.

"Where is your father?" I ask, cutting to the chase. If he's from town, I'd rather just return him and keep searching. The boy frowns, staring at the water below. It freezes.

"Gone."

Just the answer I'm looking for, especially after that little display, regardless of what or who he is, the kid has a lot of raw talent. And, I did just recently lose my cabin boy.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have a mother?"

The boy quickly looks west.

"She's busy."

Odd that a widow would venture so far from town, she must be desperate to come this far into the woods and leave her child unsupervised, regardless of his abilities.

"Can you take me to her?"

"If you play with me, brother tired," the boy says, again quickly glancing behind him.

"Wait. There are two of you?"

Another child? How fortunate, if I'm right, I've basically secured a good chunk of the continent. I do love it when things go my way. The boy steps back into the water, walking along the surface with little effort before idly answering.

"Twins," he says, marveling at his own reflection.

"Is he like you?"

"Twins," the boy answers again dubiously.

"Yes, I know. I mean the water," I say, culminating the water in my hand to illustrate. The boy's eyes light up in recognition, and he grins foolishly.

"Better."

Ah, so, he might even be worth more than this one then. I'll definitely have to see him myself and make my own judgements.

"Could you take me to him?"

The boy unexpectedly holds me closer and pouts.

"Why don't you like me?"

I blink. Huh, that's actually kind of cute. I suppose I wouldn't mind having one or maybe two cute brats as long as I don't make a habit of picking up anymore strays. I just got rid of the last one.

"It's not that I don't like you-"

"Then, play with me," the boy says, jumping out of my arms and pulling me toward the lake. He's . . . strong. I'm almost positive I've found who I'm looking for. No doubt convincing his mother to let me have him will require some persuasion, but at the end of the day, I'm more than a match for any country I come across. Still, I'll have to tread carefully. Three benders, no matter their skill level, could easily overpower me in the right circumstances.

"You, boy, slow down, I can't walk on water." Or swim, but the boy doesn't need to know that. Frankly, it's not something that comes up often despite my profession. I do spend the majority of my time on a boat. The water merely serves as an easily attainable weapon most of the time.

Whatever the case, he stops in his tracks and gives me such a look of pity that I'm almost hesitant to take him. I don't want to see that look of pity everyday. I get enough of that from France.

"That's sad. It's sooo easy. Didn't your brother teach you?" Alfred asks earnestly.

"I- No, we don't really get along. We're not the same." There's not much more to say than that. My brothers and I don't even connect on the most basic level. They're the stubborn rocks, and I'm the river forced to wear them down little by little. At least, my patience has finally paid off, give or take. They are much better behaved these days.

The boy seems genuinely shocked by my little confession. He frowns and looks at the water with a new air of determination. He puffs up and pats his chest proudly.

"Then, I'll teach you."

For once, my pride isn't much of an issue. I wouldn't mind being able to walk on water. It's a useful skill to know, to you know, keep from drowning. Unfortunately, France is in the area, and the last thing I need is for him to catch me getting water bending lessons from a child.

"That's not really necessary. I'll watch you play," I say offhandedly, heading to a nearby tree. Watching him from afar is simpler than dealing with him directly. I'm in no hurry to collect him, especially without his brother. I want the matching set, and that will require some level of patience.

The boy latches onto my leg, making me lose my balance and fall onto the stupid dirt. Ow, what a reckless little brat, I'm surprised he didn't snap my leg in half pulling that little stunt. Scratch what I said about children earlier, I can't handle more than one.

"You promised," he says, shooting me an accusing glare.

Hmph, I did no such thing, but I guess the reward is well worth the risk. If I want to keep him, I need him to like me, and well, not many people like me.

"Fine, but first, how do you do that little trick of yours?" I ask, the temptation getting to me. I can just imagine the look on France's face when I start pulling off literal miracles.

The kid looks at me like I'm an idiot and points at the water.

"You walk and try not to sink."

Great. He's too young to really understand what he's doing. Walking on water is still a far away dream.

"That's not really helpful, " I say, not bothering to hide my disappointment.

The boy rolls his eyes and sits next to me.

"So, you're saying that you want to sink?"

"No, I'm saying that if I were to do that now, I'd simply get wet." Is that really so hard to understand? I know he's a child, but he really can't be that thick, even at this age.

The boy pauses for a moment and shifts his gaze to the lake. Lifting his hand, he summons a small pocket of water to him. Tossing it back and forth, he asks a very simple question.

"Water is your friend too right?"

"My friend?" Somehow, the question manages to stump me. Can I really consider such a thing my friend? Sure, water is an essential part of life, but it can't think or feel.

"Yeah, your friend won't let you sink if you don't want to," he says, completely convinced that water works that way, and I don't really feel like proving him wrong. The least I can do is try to humor him and maintain his innocence, particularly when he doesn't seem to have many friends in the first place.

"Okay, I suppose I can give this a shot."

I get up and hesitantly head to the lake. The boy follows me without any prompting. I have his attention for now. Hopefully, I can keep it for a while longer, at least until his mother shows up. The lake's surface is still and inviting. If any piece of water is walk-able, it's this one.

When I don't step onto the water right away, the boy pushes me. I stumble forward and keep waiting for the water to soak through my clothes, but the moment never arrives. Against my better judgement, I look down. My reflection looks curiously back up at me. It's almost as if I'm looking at my double from another parallel world. I can see why the boy spends so much time looking at his reflection. He tugs at my pants, and I turn to him, mindful to keep my mind on the water, letting myself sink would be disastrous.

"Will you play with me now?" he asks, looking up at me expectantly. I grin and ruffle his hair. He's definitely expecting payment, but there is one more important thing to get out of the way.

"Tell me your name first."

The boy opens and closes his mouth several times, before finally shaking his head.

"I have a lot of names. What do you want to call me? I wouldn't mind one more."

Ah, let's see. What was that pretty name that Italy came up with a while back? I liked that one. It started with an A I think. I suppose I'll have to take a guess.

"What do you think of America?"

The boy's eyes sparkle in delight, and he grins.

"I remember that name. I like it."

America it is then. Well, that's taken care of. Now, to find his family and get custody of him and his brother so I can do some drinking of my own. America tugs my sleeve.

"Yes?"

"What's your name, old man?" he asks.

I scowl, a little miffed. America better not get in the habit of calling me "old man." He's three for St. Peter's sake. He shouldn't be talking back yet.

"I already told you. It's Arthur."

"But that's a people name. You're not people," America says, wide eyed.

Ah, I didn't think he knew the difference yet, but it confirms my suspicions at least, and multiplies my problems. The person I'll be facing won't be some doe-eyed widow. To live in such a wild place, she must be ancient.

"So, your mother isn't human either is she?"

The boy ignores my question and pulls even harder on my sleeve, beginning to pout.

"What's your real name?"

"I'm Britain if you must know, now about your mother-"

"Itan, can we play now?"

I suppose I'll have to wait, then. Even if I take him now, he'd run off eventually. Water benders are hard to lock down. A small windowless room might do the trick at this age, but that's hardly a long term solution is it? No, I'll have to earn his trust first.

"Why don't you show me what you can do? "

There is a malevolent glint to his eye as he begins to slowly lift millions of tiny droplets out of the lake. They pile together to form the equivalent of a giant water bubble. The sunlight makes the orb shine spectacularly, and for a stupefying moment, I don't realize what's coming. When I do, it's far too late. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashes the water bubble and leaves me completely soaked.

"Your turn," he shouts cheerfully.

I'm extremely tempted to freeze the little pipsqueak in place and teach him some respect, but that hardly constitutes playing. So, I flex my wrists and go for something a little more tame. The water rises and scoops him up like a cradle. He screams in delight, letting the wave take him, not realizing how the water curves like a whip. I could easily drown him if I wanted to, but I doubt that it's crossed the child's mind even once.

"One," I say, pacing myself, weary of crushing the child under the wave.

As it turns out, America is more than willing to complacently ride the tide in whatever direction I lead it. Shaking, I lose my nerve and lower my wrists. The wave breaks and dissolves into several smaller waves that America happily jumps when they come his direction.

"More, I want another big one," he cheers.

Of course, I shouldn't indulge him. Control is not my strong suit, and I don't have much experience playing games this way. When I was younger, my brothers preferred to throw rocks at me because I couldn't throw them back. And yet, I like making him smile, and it's reason enough for me to try again. Raising my arms, the water rises again, sputtering upwards as I try a little something different. Way up high now, America laughs, standing up on the makeshift fountain so he can get a better look at me. That makes me irrationally nervous. If he jumped now, I hardly have the reflexes to catch him mid-air, no matter what fancy tricks I can do with water.

"Two," I say, mostly to myself this time. My arms twist and bend, and the water twists and bends with me. I try to keep up the momentum, but I already see the miniature typhoon I made breaking apart. Blissfully oblivious, America has yet to react at all, happily holding the rim of the typhoon as it shakily continues to spin. Worried he'll plunge into the water before I can reach him, I make a split second decision, release my breath and pull my arms down. Frozen in place, America shivers, still unbearably excited. How cute, he doesn't realize just how badly things could have gone. As easily as he walks on water, he lets out his own shaky breath and melts the frozen ice keeping him in place.

"Three?" I say, a little surprised. Most children don't advance that quickly. Rapidly falling back into the lake's depths, America scrambles to pull himself together. I roll my eyes, ready to pull him out again when he launches himself like a projectile at me landing squarely on my chest. Ow. Stubborn brat.

"Weee, this is fun. Do it again," he says, shaking and clinging desperately to my clothes.

Perhaps, it was premature to freeze the water. If anything, I've made things worse if his shivering is any indication. Maybe, I should take him to the village and dry him off. I don't want him to catch pneumonia because of my carelessness.

"Are you sure?"

He punches me with his tiny fist and glares at me.

"You promised."

Self- entitled little brat isn't he? Oh well, I'm sure a water bender can handle a little cold. Still, I should avoid using ice for now. I don't know how experienced he is with it. I've yet to see the winters here.

"How about a sparing match?" I ask, curious to see the extent of his abilities. He panics easily when he loses control, despite his above average ability. Considering his recklessness earlier, it's no surprise. He's likely almost drowned many times. Still, these moments of panic are few and far between, and at the moment, he's grinning from ear to ear, pleased that play time isn't over.

"You won't get hurt old man?" he asks playfully. His bravado would be more convincing if he weren't hanging off me like a babe clings to its mother.

"I'm not the one shaking," I say, patting his back. The cold hasn't left him yet, and I'm having second thoughts about my theory that water benders can withstand the cold better than others. Red in the face, he mumbles a response.

"M'fine,"

He's quick to climb off me after that. Serious now, he steps back into the water and stands in the middle of the lake. I frown. That's way too deep for a panicky child like him to be going.

"Maybe, you should come closer to the water's edge," I say, not so subtly pushing him forward with my impromptu water whip. I accidentally smack his bum, and he glares at the thing, freezing it in place.

"I'm good, get in the water already," he says, stomping his foot. The entire lake ripples as if struck by a cosmic rock. Still doubtful, I contemplate freezing the lake. It'll be cold, but the ice would keep him from falling inside the lake's watery depths.

"Come on, I'm waiting on you" he shouts, attempting a water whip by mimicking my movements. The water doesn't reach me and falls apart at my feet.

"You haven't had much practice have you?" I ask, experimentally placing a foot on the water. It seems stable enough. The boy looks behind him before answering.

"I'm not so good at the complicated stuff," he says, so far showing little interest in attacking me. He'd rather wait for me to join him. I finally work up the nerve to place both feet on the water's surface. When I don't sink, I walk over to him where the water below us is much deeper.

"You ready?" he asks.

Taking the proper stance, I nod. He takes his own stance, much different from my own. His center of gravity is low to the ground as he kicks and punches, crudely working against the water to over power it and make it move the way he wants. No amount of water he throws at me can even touch me as his technique is far too easy to pick apart and defend against. His strikes are direct and aggressive, reminding me of the natives in the area. Odd, for a water bender to be moving this way, but understandable, earth benders seem to dominate the area. Perhaps, there are no water benders to teach him properly.

"Maybe, we should stop. It's not use if you can't touch me, " I say, having seen enough. The boy simply doesn't know how to bend properly and could use my instruction. America takes the suggestion the wrong way. He narrows his eyes, and sends a blast of water at me with one swift kick. I prepare to block again, but this time, the boy kicks the water twice more. The crude blobs of water are moving too fast. At least one of the shots will land. I freeze up. What should I block? Taking advantage of my hesitation, the boy summons three water whips and successfully holds me in place. I feel myself starting to sink as he successfully wrecks my concentration. Struggling against the water tendrils, I can't keep myself from sinking further. I'll drown if I don't do something. Deciding the boy's crude method is necessary, I freeze the tendrils and break loose, just in time for all three water blast to land.

And, just like that, the urgency is gone and the water is still once more. Taking a deep breath, I lift myself out of the water and wipe my face. Fighting on the lakes surface was a stupid if novel idea. It's not something I'll try again, any time soon. The boy grabs my arm, and uses it as a make shift swing.

"Gotcha" America says, smiling devilishly. I glare at him, a little annoyed. One good offensive out of many failed ones is not something to celebrate. He's a prideful little thing, reminds me too much of myself at that age.

"Let's see how fast you can unfreeze," I say, taking advantage of the fact that he's latched onto my arm to toss him upwards. Before he can plunge into the water, I make another makeshift icy prison to hold him in place. Every time he tries to unfreeze, I easily freeze him back in place. After about the fifth time, America gives up and crosses his arms.

"No fair."

I walk over to him and pat his head. I reach into my pocket and stuff a leftover scone in his mouth. He makes a disgusted face. Hmm . . . perhaps, the salty air has made it too stale for his taste.

"Trust me, no one is ever going to play fair. You might as well get used to it," I say, taking a bite out of my own leftover scone. He spits out the scone I gave him. Pity to waste perfectly good food, but I suppose it can't be helped, whoever has been taking care of him, has obviously spoiled him. I'm sure I can do better.

"Brother plays fair," he says.

Oh please, don't let the boy get me started on brothers. Any actual brotherly affection will get tossed out the window before long. In the end, he'll be better off looking after himself instead of harping on how fair something is.

"Then, he's going easy on you," I say, knowing on good authority that tends to happen a lot. Most people don't particularly like beating up children and would rather get them to cooperate by less brutal methods. It just so happens I wasn't so keen on falling for those less brutal methods. As bloody as things got, I'm better for it.

"Nuh-uh, sometimes he cries," America says, oddly proud of that fact.

Honestly, this argument is silly. I'd rather he not underestimate any of his opponents, including his twin. There's no guarantee I'll be able to snatch both of them up, and the sooner he realizes family can't be trusted the better.

"But you said he was better right? How can you be sure he wasn't faking?" I ask, and with that, his vehement insistence finally falters.

"Huh, I guess I can't," he says thoughtfully. His wicked smile slowly growing. I have a feeling his poor brother will likely suffer a lot more boisterous bruising from now on. And, speaking of his brother, there may still be a chance I can get a hold of him without meeting their mother at all. If America was alone, then, his brother might be as well.

"I'd like to meet him."

America shivers and looks down at the pillar of ice that has him captive.

"Kind of stuck," he says, looking up at me earnestly. I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. With my luck, he will get hypothermia later.

Taking a deep breath, I melt the water and catch him before he falls into the lake.

"There," I say, secretly glad when he holds onto me for warmth. I haven't known him long, but he's already coming to me for comfort. Maybe, I don't have his complete trust yet, but this is definitely a start.

"Great, I'm gonna find Mattie and tell 'em about you," he says, letting go of me so he can run off. Well, I can't have him running into his mother on the way.

"Never turn your back on an opponent," I say, using a water tendril to grab him by the ankle. Hanging upside down now, his robe flutters down and America hastily pushes it up to cover himself.

"But you said-,"

"Caught you," I say, using the water whip to bring him to me. The technique is a simple one and only requires that I flex my wrist at the right moment. I have no trouble securing him. He's still in shock and it doesn't occur to him to struggle. Or, that's what I thought at least.

After he's safely in my arms, America smiles brightly and pats my cheek.

"Okay, you won, but I gotta go now," he says, once again jumping out of my arms. This time, I don't bother water bending him back and grab him by the collar. Bringing him up to my eye level, I do my best to let the situation slowly sink in.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," I say quietly. His face completely blank, he asks what seems to be every child's favorite question.

"Why?"

"Because of the rules," I say, completely serious. It's not hard to fool children if you commit to it. America's still quite skeptical though. Scrunching up his face, he tries to comprehend the situation but can't seem to make a decision.

"What rules?" he asks finally.

"Since I won, I get to keep you," I say, prodding his stomach.

Covering his belly, he pouts, not liking where things are going at all, but almost instantaneously, his attitude changes completely, and he latches onto my neck as if I were his favorite toy.

"But I won first so does that mean I get to keep you?" he asks, genuinely seeking confirmation. I laugh, knowing full well he could never keep hold of me for very long.

"Sorry no, you'd have to catch me," I say, tapping the tip of his nose.

Oddly enough, his smile doesn't disappear, and his eyes narrow into happy little slits.

"'Kay, I can do that," he says, and at this point, I start to realize that I should have made more of an effort to correct him as he takes a deep breath and shouts,

"Mom, I found a stranger, and he's trying to kidnap me."

Shit. I immediately drop him. This is no way to start negotiations with a country I've never met before. The earth breaks apart, and I back away as best I can before inevitably falling into the fissure. America, of course, remains unscathed and is now sitting on a nearby tree branch, swinging his legs back and forth childishly.

"Why did you have to say that?" I say tiredly. I can already tell this is going to be unpleasant. Off in the distance, a woman shouts. She doesn't sound much older than myself. Considering what she is, that's to be expected.

"Dammit, again? I told you to stay with your brother and not talk to anyone."

Getting over this unexpected turn of events, I kick myself into high gear and attempt to pry my arms loose with little success. I'm not hurt, but she definitely knew how much pressure to use to keep me in place. I'm dealing with a master, and a master I am not. Perhaps, it wouldn't have been so bad to run into France after all. At least, I know I can take him.

For an ancient entity, she is unremarkable. This woman looks like any other native in the area. Her mud colored eyes and dark skin leave something to be desired, and under different circumstances, I wouldn't have given her a second thought. Today, I have every reason to give her my full attention. If I am to escape and take the boy with me, I need her to trust me, and well, not many people trust me. Fortunately, the child looks nothing like her, and I'm not really under the impression that she is his "mother" in the literal sense. As far as I'm concerned, the only tangible connection they have to each other is that he happened to show up in her territory.

And yet, despite these painfully obvious differences, it's easy to see where the boy gets his attitude problem. Her smug grin is identical to his, and her entire aura resonates with the same irritating sense of pride present in the boy. With every step she takes, the earth shakes and the grass grows as if she were the embodiment of some forgotten pagan god. Perhaps, a regular person would be awed by the sight, but I am only filled with dread. She is every bit as skilled and powerful as I thought she might be, and I currently have no feasible way to defend myself. She uses her foot to tilt my head upward. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, but my discomfort only increases her amusement. She knows I'm not a threat right now.

"So, this is what the ocean washed up, eh? At least the one your brother picked up was pretty," the woman says idly as if I were nothing more than a broken seashell that washed ashore.

"Excuse me?" I say, way more offended than I have any right to be in this situation. My intentions aren't exactly noble and making a fuss now will likely make the situation even worse.

"You're pretty in your own way," the boy says, patting my head affectionately. Heh, that actually made me feel worse. Perhaps, I should have brought backup with me, if only so I wouldn't have been subjected to this kind of torture.

For once, she seems a little uneasy, and the woman makes it a point to push her "son" as far from me as possible.

"No, no, he's not. Go play with your brother. I'll handle this," she says, no longer amused. I smirk, making note of the exploitable weakness. I won't hurt the boy, but once I manage to break free, he's still an easy target, and therefore, a huge liability to miss "earth shaker."

"But, he's boring when he's sleeping," America pouts, letting his feet drag so his "mother" literally has to carry him back. She sighs and picks him up.

"Maybe, you shouldn't play so rough with him then. He'd be awake more often," she points out, fixing his hair so the boy's cow lick is more visible.

" But he's asleep right now, and we weren't done playing," America says, pointing to me. I smile as sincerely as I can, but I'm sure I probably look even more like a child-napper than I did before. She looks at me skeptically and frowns.

"What did I say about messing with powerless humans?" she says, turning to America. Oh, is that what she thinks? She's in for a little surprise. It's time to act. I ignore the pain and dislocate my shoulder like Scotland taught me. I just need a minute . . .

"Not to but he's like us," he says on good authority. I smirk, flexing my free hand. A look of confusion crosses her face.

"Then, why hasn't he-"

A torrent of water crashes into her, making her lose her balance and knock down several trees. For a brief second, she's paralyzed in shock and completely soaked. This gives me more than enough time to crawl out of the fissure and get closer to the water. That little stunt cost me a lot of energy, and I can't afford to get caught again. We're both breathing heavily and neither of us is ready to make a move yet. She wipes blood from her mouth and spits.

"Ugh, it's the french trapper, all over again. Go hide with your brother" she says, slowly getting up. Her eyes are on me the entire time. I, on the other hand, have my eyes on the boy. He is well within grabbing distance, but it's much too soon to try that. So, I wait, slightly troubled by the boy's non reaction. I need him not to hate me. Luckily, his blank expression soon turns sour as the boy begins to whine.

"But, he's my friend."

His mother shoots him an incredulous look and picks him up.

"If he's your friend, why is he attacking me?" she asks.

"That's how he plays," America says cheerfully. I can't help but laugh.

"What? You don't want to play with me?" I ask tauntingly. I can afford to do so at the moment. The child will not attack me, and I'm fairly positive that she won't either while America considers me a friend.

"Oh, go die of frostbite," she says, confirming my suspicions.

"Catch smallpox," I snap right back.

"Go get syphilis," she says, shooting me a knowing look. I scoff. She's implying a lot more than I have any reason to put up with.

"You take that back," I say, raising my sword.

Before the conversation can get any more heated, I'm frozen in place.

"Play nice," Alfred says, not so much threatening me but forcing me to comply. I sigh and unfreeze myself, reluctantly putting away my sword. I'm not eager to prove I can be bested by a three year old.

" I'd like to propose a truce," I say, making her raise an eyebrow.

"And, why would I agree to that?"

"Obviously, we're evenly matched," I say, despite the fact that we've yet to actually face each other in a real match. Words are my forte, and I'm more than willing to gloss over any actual fighting if it suits me. Considering the current situation, reasoning with her is the much better choice, and I can definitely get my way without having to kidnap children, however tempting it might be.

"I wouldn't say that," she mutters, giving me a second look. The woman is not at all impressed. Thankfully, I don't need her to be. I just need her on my side long enough to kick France and Spain out.

"Regardless, if we are to coexist, I'm going to require your assistance," I say, carefully measuring her reaction. After briefly casting her gaze in the direction of the coastline, she reluctantly sighs, knowing full well she can't stop more of us from coming.

"Fine. What do you want? Access to hunting grounds? Water? Food?" she asks.

"I want the boy," I say flatly. No sense sugar coating it.

"No deal," she says, preparing to launch me into oblivion with one swift well aimed kick. Since I'd rather not have the ground beneath me fly me further into the wilderness, I'm quick to clarify.

"Hold on, I don't like children," I say, and it's enough to postpone my impending doom by catapult. She abandons her fighting stance and again looks amused.

"Then, I'm confused by your motives. "

The boy doesn't take the news so well. Largely offended, he points his grubby finger at me.

"Hey, you said you liked me. He lied to me," Alfred says, clasping the woman's neck and glaring at me.

"I know, sweetie. I'll kick his ass for you later," she reassures him, patting his back. I roll my eyes again. There isn't going to be anymore fighting today. I'm certain of that although I am still weary of being catapulted out of her sight if I say the wrong thing.

"Look, I just need to prove to the others that I have him so they'll go away," I say, explaining the situation as simply as possible. Her amusement abruptly changes to one of disbelief.

"Again, why?"

"It's how we do things. Grab the child, win the territory," I say, fully aware of how silly it sounds, but I still vastly prefer this way of doing things versus fighting a never ending battle with whichever country I happen to be competing with. (It's usually France and spending less time with France is reason enough to jump through these kind of hoops.)

"You're all awful. I'm glad most of you are incompetent," she says, shaking her head at me. Oh, she's one to talk.

"Like the way you do things is all sunshine and roses, from what I understand, you have cannibalistic tendencies," I say, edging her on. She's not at all offended and even smiles.

"Lucky for you, you don't look yummy at all then," she says. America snickers.

" You know what, forget I said anything. If you're not going to cooperate," I say, ready to get out of here. The boy won't come with me yet. I've no reason to stick around.

"Wait, to be honest, the Spanish and French guy are starting to get on my nerves. I wouldn't mind if they backed off," she admits. America looks up at her shocked.

"I thought you liked France?"

"Turns out France likes everybody. Besides, no one names my kid but me" she says.

"But I like the name Canada. CA-NA-DAH," America shouts.

"That's nice, sweetie, but he's getting a little too close to Matthew for my taste," she says. Her tone makes it quite clear that his name probably didn't used to be Matthew either.

"You told me not to talk to mean people," America say bluntly.

" Well, we're going to cooperate with the children hater, just this once," the woman says, making it quite clear that any alliance we make will be uneasy at best. Sigh, the things I do to get ahead.

"Can I cut in?"

"What child hater?"

Great, I have a feeling that knickname is going to stick. Patience, Arthur, you'll gain the advantage soon enough. Right now, she has something you want. Be nice.

"Please, call me Arthur."

"Fine Arthur. What?"

"About the children-" I say, a little hesitant to bring it up now that I'm known as the "child hater." I shouldn't have bothered. She's not letting the little brats out of her sight.

"Yeah, I don't want you anywhere near my children. Who knows what bad habits Little Rabbit picked up from you," she says, holding America closer to her. America immediately starts to squirm. Hmm . . . he doesn't like being smothered. I'll have to make note of that.

"Mom, I told you not to call me that," America says, repeatedly trying and failing to get out of her grip.

"Okay, calm down, Little Rabbit," she says, completely missing the point.

"Mom," he whines.

I've heard enough. Based on what I've seen, I'm not the one teaching him bad habits.

"I assure you that he didn't learn anything you wouldn't approve of ," I say, confident that a few minutes alone with me isn't the poison well she's making it out to be. America smiles mischievously, and I start having second thoughts about that.

"Never turn your back on an opponent and family can't be trusted,"he says, purposely trying to imitate me. I wince, that probably didn't win me any points in the good ally department. Sure enough, she is not even a little amused.

"Goodbye,"she says, turning her back on me. I grab her by the shoulder.

"I thought we had deal," I say, sounding a lot less understanding than I did a moment before. Negotiations are likely to be difficult, and it's more than a little frustrating. I don't want to spend more time with her than I have to.

"Maybe, some other time, I'm not sure if I can trust you yet," she says, forcibly removing my hand. The woman doesn't make a move to leave, and I get the hint. She wants to be convinced.

"You can trust me more than the frog. That's for sure," I say. She rolls her eyes. I must not sound very reassuring.

"I doubt it, but you can stick around for now I guess," she says with a shrug.

"What makes you think I need your permission?"

As soon as I say it, I know I shouldn't have, particularly after she gave me her blessing to stay, but I've never been one to back down from a challenge before, and I'm not about to start now.

"Because here, I'm queen, you water bender has-been," she says, not so subtly attempting to trip me by putting rocks in my way. I don't appreciate it.

"We'll see just how long you last," I say, threat clear. The woman doesn't take it as one. She smirks, not at all bothered that I'm still following her.

"I could say the same to you, Mr. Roanoke. "

No one is ever going to let that go are they?

"I'd rather not be associated with those daft settlers, thank you. They were either traitors or deserters" I say dismissively. I haven't exactly been keeping a careful eye on all these settlers.

"Or they died because you're incompetent" she says. I sigh again. Perhaps, I should change my approach to this whole colony thing, and I suppose I can admit my mistakes, no matter how indirect my involvement.

"Yes, or they died miserable unspeakable deaths. I'm aware,"I say. She better drop it. Unfortunately, America seems to have picked up on the game.

"Bye, Mr. Roanoke," he says happily.

I swear he says these things on purpose. Well, I better correct him now or the annoying nicknames will pile up. I put on my best patient face and look him in the eye.

"That's not my name," I say.

America's attention unfortunately doesn't stay on me. Another little blonde boy has popped out of the bushes. Oh, so this is the other one. He looks at me timidly and hides behind the woman.

"Who's that guy?"

"Oh, he's Itan, but he prefers to be called Mr Roanoke," America pipes up before the woman can explain.

"Oh, bye, Mr Roanoke," the new little blonde says.

My eyebrows inadvertently twitch. Lovely, the nickname is sticking. The woman doesn't say a word, but her face speaks volumes. She isn't about to correct them.

"Yes, bye, you little annoying brats." I mutter under my breath.

We go our separate ways, and as I watch the two little blond boys leave with the strange impertenent women, I can't help but feel a sense of loss. They really should be with me. Damn, I'm really going to make a habit of picking up strays aren't I?

* * *

_**Unfortunately, my computer has experienced some premature wear and tear. Now, I'm going to have it checked tomorrow, but even though I have this chapter backed up, I'm posting this as a precaution. I was saving this until I was further along so consider this an early preview. I'm still working on my other stories. This is just something I started a while back. **_


	2. Of the Earth

Of the Earth

Life is funny. It never gives you what you asked for, well not any of the important stuff anyway. I came from a long line of earth benders so it was kind of disappointing to find out that I take after dad. Now, me and mom have nothing in common. Water doesn't even feel right when I touch it. The stuff is always trying to slip from my fingers like it knows I don't know what I'm doing, and yet I still manage to push it in the right direction more or less. Sometimes, I don't know how I manage that much. Mom doesn't know how to teach me.

"He seemed nice," Canada says absently. For a minute, I don't know who he's talking about. My mind is on other much more worrying troubles. Then, I smile. Yeah, I have to admit I liked meeting someone who was like me, struggling. My smile fades away. We've been walking too long. Mom is obviously taking us far away from here.

"Mom didn't thinks so," I tell him. Canada remains as cheerful as ever and just as fearless.

"Mom doesn't like anybody," he pipes up. I wince, waiting for mom to butt in. She doesn't. Her mind is also on much more worrying troubles. Personally, I think she's overreacting. So, they have a different skin color. Dad, did too, and he was a nice man from what I remember. Then again, maybe, mom remembers it differently.

"She liked dad," I offer anyway. How else would we have been born? I didn't really believe that "we sprung from the earth" story anymore. The elder was pretty up front about it when I asked.

"That's because he never talked," Canada says smartly.

Oh, Matthew, you always know just what to say. I squeeze his hand and look back at mom. Her attention is not on us and instead on the potential threats surrounding us, me sneaking away earlier must have made her paranoid.

"Come on, we need to keep moving," she says, confirming my suspicions. I don't really want to lose the one water bending friend I have. I drag my feet, making it difficult for mom to keep going. She gets the hint and sighs, giving me a "this better be important" look.

"Why?" I ask, now that I have her full attention. Mom looks away and gazes at the coastline.

"The seashore is getting a little crowded," she says cryptically. I've seen exactly one settlement so far, and the one before that gave up and decided to stick with us instead of bothering with their "civilized" lifestyle that left them half starved when winter came around. As far as I'm concerned, we still run the place, and we should pity them.

"But the new people seem nice," I say instead. Sure, the strange caterpillar man had a weird way of showing it, but he definitely cared about me. Why else would he ask why I was all alone when we met?

"The less we have to do with them, the better, trust me," she says as stubborn as ever. Good thing, I get that from her.

"Are you 'fraid of getting hurt again cause dad left? That's what France said," Canada cuts in, and the comment definitely strikes a nerve. So much so, she accidentally passes our camp. I don't say anything. We're not going anywhere for too long without our supplies or my mom's horse. I need more time if I'm going to convince her to stay in this area. There might even be other more skilled water benders around that I haven't met yet.

"France is an ass, and I don't want you around him anymore" mom says, picking him up. Apparently, I can walk the rest of the way because I'm the ungrateful child that is slowing her down.

"But he's my friend," Matthew whines. I roll my eyes. All that really means is the blond man has fed him plenty of sweets. I wouldn't mind some actually, but so far, he's stuck to Canada's borders. From what I heard from mom that is no longer the case.

"A friend who is only a friend when it suits him, is not a friend you want to have," she says, scolding Canada. He mopes and his eyes are as big as the glittering large rocks at the bottom of the river.

"But," he says weakly. I let out an exaggerated sigh. I hate that mom won't let us make new friends. New people are always coming to see us and look around. It's funny to see them freak out when they have to deal with something they aren't familiar with.

"Please, trust me," she says. There is an urgency to her voice that worries me. Mom never tells us when something is wrong.

"Okay, " Matthew mumbles, backing down easily.

"Hey now, you don't even know your own people yet and more are moving in from places I can only imagine. Do not take these stranger's offerings at face value. Take your time, get to know them, and wait until you're big and strong before offering your friendship, then, my young ones, you will be on more equal footing." Mom finally realizes that we've passed our campsite some time ago, and neither of us said a word. She stops and sighs.

"So, I should wait?" Canada asks. She nods and picks me up too. I freeze. I'm getting a talking to next because of my recent rebellious streak, especially after my encounter with eyebrows.

"You're reluctant to leave the coastline. Tell me why," she says. Canada does his best to ignore us so as not to prolong my suffering. I'm not brave enough to tell her a bold face lie. So, I just spit out what I've wanted ever since I discovered I was a water bender.

"There are water benders coming from all over. Maybe, one of them could teach me," I say, a little afraid of what my mother will think of me. This is the first time that I've openly gone against her view of the world. Her immediate reaction is surprise as if she's never considered that there might honestly be something that she needs from the strangers. That only lasts a second as she tries to figure out a way around this.

"These strangers are not the first to come. We will search the tribes for someone to teach you. Besides, the man did not seem very skilled, too much raw power, not enough discipline," she says, giving her final verdict. My education will have to wait. At the end of the day, she will associate with the people that come, but she does not trust them, even her relationship with France is not as amiable as it once was. Oh well, at least, I've bought myself some time. The coast is the most logical place to look for more water benders.

"If that's what you think is best," I say, nervous that I'm consciously defying my mother. I do not think they will treat me unkindly if I ask for their help. Of course, my betrayal is all hypothetical. I'm sure my mom will not risk taking us into town any time soon, not after we've had a taste of their company and liked it. We reach camp soon enough. The sun is still high in the sky, and my mother leaves us alone to hunt. I think of wandering off, maybe to find the man or better yet a town. My brother is the one that starts walking into the forest first. I hastily catch up to him, panicking in a way that I'm sure mom panicked when I went missing a few hours ago.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find France," my brother says as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You're not going to find him," I tell him firmly, ready to drag him back to camp. Unfortunately, we're evenly matched and I only manage to drag him a few inches forward.

"Francis told me where I can find him. He's nearby. I thought you'd want to come with me," Canada pouted. I let him go. Huh?

"Why would I want to do that?" I ask. Matthew grins.

"Cause he's a water bender, and I bet he's better than the other guy," he says. My first instincts are to defend the man. England wasn't too bad, just raw, like mom said. I don't want to get Canada mad though in case he is right. Since Canada is my brother, I'm sure he'd be willing to teach me.

"Sure let's go. It's not far, right? " Canada nods furiously. And, he is right, despite my suspicions. We don't walk very far before we hear men's laughter and the clinking of glasses. It's a campsite, much like ours but different. Their tents are larger and not made of any animal or plant I've ever seen. I have second thoughts. There are a lot of people here, and we are very small and easy to catch. Canada runs forward without a care.

"Papa!" he shouts. I've heard that word before, and it makes me weary. Spain tried to get me to call him that, but he wasn't very interested in playing with me so I never really gave him my affection. (He was looking for gold or whatever.) Matthew calls France papa wholeheartedly, and I finally understand what mom meant. We won't be a family for long if we drift apart like this. This man plans to take Matthew away, and I let him come here. It's my fault if we lose my brother.

"Matthew, I'm so glad to see you. Would you like some sweets?" Canada nods shyly and Francis signals to one of the men to get sweets.

"I've brought someone," Canada says conversationally. France and his men finally notice my head sticking out of the bushes. I duck down, wanting to crawl away and get mom, but it's too late. They have seen me, and some burly guy grabs me. The other man finally comes back with sweets.

"Ah, so, you are Matthew's twin. I was hoping to find you," he says, taking me from the burly man. He slips the man a shiny coin for his trouble. I'm close to tears, none of this feels right. We need to leave now.

"Don't looks so upset. Here have a candy," Francis says. The candy is sweet, and I do calm down. Maybe, France isn't so bad. Besides, these guys don't seem to be in any hurry to leave.

"Can you do tricks like your brother?" he asks. I'm still sucking on the candy, and I look at him dubiously, playing dumb. I'd rather not attract his attention that way I can run away and tell mom if anything does go wrong.

"You must be able to. I'm sure of it, being what you are. It is rare for creatures like us not to be gifted," Francis says, stroking my hair. He's trying to coax an answer out of me. I shrug. Matthew glares at me.

"Yeah, he can. My brother is looking for someone to teach him," Canada says, frustrated by my silence. I know he is trying to do something nice for me, but Mom's right. We can't trust these people just because they give us things.

"Oh? If that's the case, I can teach you little one, but of course, learning to be as fabulous as me will take some time. Time that I cannot spend here," Francis says. I have a sinking feeling. Here comes the trap.

"What do you mean?" I say, trying to subtly get off his lap. He finds a way to keep me in place so it looks like he's coddling me. I hate being coddled.

"I mean that I will be returning to Europe soon, and if you're anything like your brother-"

"I'm not," I say, eyes watering. I don't want to go.

"Well, I'm sure you'll be magnifique anyway," Francis says, taking Matthew's hand while he holds me in place under his arm.

"You want to come to. Don't you Matthew?" Francis asks. Matthew, at least, has the sense to be skeptical, despite his naivete. He looks at me.

"Alfred's coming too right?" I'm done giving France the benefit of the doubt. I start squirming out of his grip. Francis lets go of Matthew's hand for a minute and takes out another candy. This one looks different. I try to keep it out of my mouth, but Francis forces me to swallow the candy. I feel dizzy and very sleepy all of a sudden.

"You want to come, don't you little one" he asks. I'm very comfortable where I am now, and I nod sleepily. Maybe, we won't be going very far.

"See, you won't be alone," Francis says, offering his free hand to Matthew. He hesitates but takes it.

"You'll love my place. It's gorgeous," Francis says. Matthew looks at him in amazement.

"Better than the trading posts you built in my place?" Francis grins.

"Much better," he promises. He signals to the men again, and they start to pack. I feel like this should scare me, but I'm very slow to act. I yawn and lift myself up using France's shirt. He pushes me back down with little effort, and I make a little indignant sound. Francis shushes me.

"Go back to sleep little one. We should reach the boat in an hour or two." Since I can't do anything else, I do something I haven't done in a longtime and cry, hoping my mother will hear me and save us. I don't get what I ask for. Instead, eyebrows comes out of the bushes. He's not the same as before. There is a hatred in his eyes that I've never seen. I don't think he will make the situation better.

"Going somewhere France?" Francis is pale and afraid of . . . eyebrows. Even now with his hate filled eyes, I don't see how anyone could be afraid of him. It's enough to make me laugh. England points his sword at France's neck. Francis backs away slowly and it's easy to see who has the upper hand here, at least while the men are away, and Francis's hands are full. I make a choice. One, I'm not sure if I'll regret later or not.

"I want to go with England," I yell, fighting off my sleepiness as best I can. It comes out as a low murmur but their shocked looks assure me that I've been heard. England puts away his sword, and I wonder if I've done something wrong for him to forfeit so easily.

"You know the rules, France. America has chosen, and I'm afraid he hasn't chosen you," England says. France sighs and passes me to England. I cling to him for dear life, knowing that if nothing else, I hopefully won't be going on a boat today, unless I've only chosen one captor over another. I shut my eyes. Don't think about that right now. You're safe right now. Today, England is the better choice.

"No fair, I only had a few minutes to charm him. I wanted the set," France whines.

"You and I both, France, speaking of which, Matthew would you like to come with us. I'm taking you both back to your mother" England says. I sigh in relief. So, I have made the right choice. Now that I'm in Arthur's arms, Matthew has lost his nerve and runs to England. France is heartbroken.

"But Matthew, I thought you wanted to come with me." Matthew uses Arthur's long trench coat to obscure his face and answers back bashfully.

"I still don't want to go alone." Disappointed, Francis flips his hair back and shakes his head. I stick my tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and crouches down to pat Matthew's head.

"Tres bien, I will try again another day. Maybe, by then, that one will have gotten sick of you," he says, getting up and giving England a look. Arthur scoffs.

"I'm not so impatient that I'll blow my chance as easily as you just did," Arthur says.

"We shall see. I'm in no hurry, but we both know you are running out of time," France says. I don't really understand, but I keep a tight hold on Arthur all the same in case a fight breaks out. England stiffens and he's oddly serious.

"I'm sure my majesty will understand if I take a long leave of absence," England says. I tug at his collar. I want to leave already. He rubs my back, and I'm only barely awake enough to hear Francis's rebuttal.

"I meant your queen is getting old, Angleterre. I know you're not stupid enough to leave your place unattended when she finally kicks the bucket," France says. England laughs.

"Canada, step back, and you, America, close your eyes," I do, and the last thing I hear is Francis's girlish scream.


	3. Only a Memory

Only a Memory

To see France drenched like a drowned wretch is extremely satisfying until I take a good look into his eyes. I've given him incentive to take the children away. While I could potentially overpower him through sheer force, I can't if I'm holding America. I'll have to be more subtle. There isn't time to hesitate. I don't want France to have the first strike, but my brain can't seem to think of a way to water bend with one hand. Water gushes out of the forest and surrounds France's arms forming eight water tendrils ready to strike at a moments notice. I find the spectacle almost comical even if I know full well how effective the technique really is. Still, this style of fighting does not suit France in the slightest, such methods are inelegant and crude and far below Francis usual standards. Having to pull water from so far away must be limiting what he can do, and I know that I'll tire very quickly if I do the same. With this in mind, I take what little water I have in my canteen and prepare to go on the defensive. It's only a fraction of what France has at his disposal, but I only have to outlast him.

"Is that all? Surely, that isn't enough to stop moi," France says, laughing in that obnoxious way of his. I shrug, remaining nonchalant.

"It's all I need," I say.

Francis smirks and strikes with rapid precision. I only manage to block three out of eight blows. We are now equally drenched, and there is a slight pause as the water drips from our clothes into the newly muddy ground.

"Did you expect me to go easy on you?" Francis says, delighted that there wasn't any truth to my earlier boasts. I scowl. There has to be a way to defend myself with more than just my flimsy one handed water bending.

His aggression comes at a price. He needs to refuel quickly before I have a chance to retaliate. With this brief reprieve, I check on America who is still quite dry and blissfully unaware of the danger. I gather as much water as I can from my person and the muddy ground at my feet. Despite my efforts, I don't collect nearly as much as France. He shakes his head as if he expected better and prepares his stance.

"Let me put you out of your misery,"he says, beginning his assault once more. I instinctively protect myself from a frontal assault that risks hurting America. Instead, the water whips my sides, and this time the hits really sting as if his previous blows were only in jest.

Two of the eight water tendrils grab me by the ankles and force me to the ground. Another two restrain my arms, and the remaining four snatch America and Canada away. Drat, that wasn't a development I was expecting. I had assumed Matthew had run away some time after the fight started, and I can't help but feel partially responsible for his capture.

Every second brings me closer to my defeat. I must free my hands if I'm going to have any chance at all, but the thick tendrils hold me in place much more effectively than I would have thought. Several times I've come close to releasing myself only to have the water reform and shackle me again. Fortunately, keeping both the children and I captive prove to be beyond France's capabilities, and I easily break the water apart and set us all free. America falls to the ground and immediately wakes up, startled, as if he has merely been tossed out of bed. Having suffered a similar fate, Canada also doesn't seem to register what happened all that clearly at first. And, it is at this instance that the differences between them becomes clear to me.

Matthew understand almost immediately Francis's intentions and rushes over to his brother, hugging him protectively. America stares at Canada blankly, probably wondering what brought this on. Francis hesitates now that the children are in the way. We lock eyes and reach an agreement. We will settle this fight later. Francis lets what is left of the water seep back into the earth. Satisfied that I won't be struck from behind, I decide to check on the children. Storm clouds gather, and thunder booms ominously. I chalk it to coincidence at first as I am unfamiliar with the weather patterns here, but Canada's glare reminds me of myself at that age. I hesitate, wondering if he could really have such a vitriolic power at his disposal. No, it couldn't be. There are few water benders who could do such a thing. Even so, what he really needs is someone to show him a little respect. I crouch down so we are at eye level.

"Are you two ready to go home?" I don't mind giving them back momentarily. Right now, the most important thing to do is to build trust between us, particularly concerning the children. America watches passively, purposely leaving the decision to Canada.

"We'll walk," Canada says, taking his brother's hand so he can lead him away.

Bullocks, I won't be getting any credit then. I let Canada pass me. There is no reason I can't follow from afar and protect my investment. Francis has other ideas. By now, he realizes he has made a grave miscalculation by revealing his true colors. To Matthew, Francis is no longer simply the man that sometimes gives him sweets. Today, Canada has learned that the sweets come with a price. He blocks Canada's path and offers him his hand, smiling warmly.

"I will take you."

Canada does not smile back and goes around him.

"No thank you," he says curtly. France's smile disappears. His supposedly superior charm has failed him. I'd add to France's misery, but Canada hasn't exactly warmed up to me yet. I'd rather he not see me at my worst. When they are out of sight, Francis speaks up.

"Are you not going to escort them?"

Clearly, he'd go himself if Canada hadn't just rejected him so handily. I suppose I've waited long enough. There is a chance I'll lose sight of them if I dally any longer.

"Of course, I will. We are not the only ones on the coast, currently. I'd be a fool to leave them unattended for very long. At least, I know you won't be a problem anymore. "

"This only a minor set back for me. They are young and fickle. My sweets and superior charm will win Canada and America over eventually, " he says.

"Of course, I know you don't give up easily, but at least, they're not blind to your ambitions. By the way, how many times have you fought Spain over Italy now?" I say, and he scoffs, crossing his arms defensively.

"Is your camp far?" he asks.

Truthfully, I had wandered far searching for Canada and America's encampment. And yet, I did not think it was something wise to admit. We'd only end up fighting again, and France would gain the upper hand in a prolonged engagement.

"It's not much of a walk," I lie.

France seems to catch the uncertainty in my voice but chooses not to call my bluff.

"I see. Well, you are welcomed to stay the night when you return if you like. I will be serving dinner soon," he says. I have to wonder if he means to trick me, even if the offer sounds genuine enough.

"I'm surprised. I would think you'd like to see me lost in the woods," I say, dropping all pretenses. I am not familiar with the landscape, and my chances of making it back to my encampment before dark are slim.

"No, you're thinking of Scotland, silly Angleterre. He'd be a moody mess for weeks when you'd find your way out of the woods if I remember correctly, " he says smugly, returning to his tent.

His words are true enough, and they bring back unwelcome feelings that I'd rather keep buried. The woods weren't always my safe haven. I leave the clearing and find the children are still fairly close to the encampment. America is oddly sluggish and a far cry from the energetic tike I met a few hours earlier. I can see why they haven't made much progress. Canada is the one keeping him awake and moving. Luckily, they haven't noticed me yet , and I don't think they will so long as I keep to the shadows.

"Come on, we're almost there," Canada says. America nods and yawns.

"Do you think she noticed we left?" he asks. Canada doesn't answer right away.

"I don't think mom is back from hunting yet."

"Good, she's been really paranoid lately," America says.

I accidentally trip over a root and fall forward, making America squeak. I'd laugh if I didn't find the situation so irritating. The path had been fairly easy to cross before now. Canada doesn't seem at all surprised. Perhaps, he expected something like this after my brief confrontation with France.

"I'm starting to get why," Canada says.

"Hello, Mr Roanoke," America says cheerfully.

"Please don't call me that," I say wearily.

"Why are you here?" Canada asks.

"I wanted to make sure you were safe," I say, dusting myself off.

"Or that no one else gets to take us" Canada says. Oh, is that why I've been getting as many dirty looks as France? I'm not leaving anytime soon even if Elizabeth is getting rather frail . . . or at the very least, more self indulgent.

The letters I've received lately have been fairly explicit and must have been dangerous to send. It reeks of desperation. Elizabeth is usually far more cautious. I wonder if her end is closer than I thought if she cares so little for her own safety. Maybe, I should go home. No, I can't let France's mind games get to me. I need to focus on the task at hand.

"Matthew, may I call you Matthew?"

"I guess," he says.

"I only want to extend my friendship to you two and your mother now that we will be living in close quarters. I see no reason why we can't get along. Have I honestly intentionally done any harm to either of you?" I ask.

My sincerity is enough to put Canada at ease. He is still just a child after all, and accidentally waking Alfred from a nap is hardly enough of a reason to hold a grudge.

"Come on, he's not so bad," Alfred says, assuring me that what happened earlier isn't a fluke either. He does on some level consider me trustworthy or at the very least more approachable than France. I'd say some progress has definitely been made since this morning.

"Fine. You can come," Canada says, dragging America forward while I bring up the rear. His brother hasn't quite woken up yet. He yawns often and almost trips and falls in Canada's haste. I'd offer to carry him, but the trip is surprisingly short, and there is no need.

The camp is lackluster with only a tent and a doused fire to show that their mother has been there at all. However, there are a few strewn logs that are perfect to sit on, and this particular clearing has edible berries nearby. Matthew picks some berries from a nearby bush and is kind enough to offer me some. America decides to nap on the soft grass near my feet to take advantage of the shade the old rotten logs offers. As far as encampments go, it is ideal, and I wouldn't mind staying the night if she let me. Still, I'd rather not risk travel in the dark should she cast me out into these unfamiliar woods, no matter how tame they appear to be. Perhaps, it would be better to take up France's offer rather than trust a stranger to be kind. After all, even an enemy can serve as a friend when it is convenient.

"Boys, are you here? Or did you wander off again?" she calls out, still obscured by the trees and bushes surrounding us. The sounds of a carcass being dragged across the forest floor let me know more or less where she is.

Canada rapidly stuffs the remaining berries into his mouth and tries to push me aside, back into the safety of the woods. I see no reason to run yet and his light shoves are easy enough to ignore. Luckily, America doesn't show any signs of waking soon, or I'd have another pair of grubby hands pawing at me to go away.

"You can't stay. She'll get mad," Canada begs, still futilely pushing against me with his meager strength, or perhaps, he is holding back. His brother has already proven how deceptively strong he is, and considering the random thunderstorm a few minutes ago, his strengths might simply lie elsewhere.

"They're safe. I hope you don't mind me dropping in," I answer. Canada emits a frustrated whine and mumbles a heart breaking little no. I pat his back reassuringly. He isn't receptive, and simply sits by his brother, pouting.

The trees shake, looking almost afraid as they tremble. The earth cracks and several trees are rooted from the ground as the woman rides in, a dead deer carcass slung across her back. She is panting heavily as she flattens the ground below her feet and makes her way to me.

"Why are you here?" she asks, distrustful but patient. America is sound asleep, and Canada is unharmed if distraught. For now, she will give me a chance to explain myself.

"I found them in France's camp. I thought you'd like them returned," I answer honestly. This catches her off guard, and she turns to Canada who at some point had decided his best option was to hide behind the log unaware how easy he'd be to spot from her vantage point.

"Is this true or is there more to it than that?" she asks. Canada mumbles something. She sighs and puts the deer carcass down before reaching to pick him up. When she does, he shuts his eyes tight and clings to her, unwilling to answer.

"You went to ask him for more sweets didn't you?"

Realizing he has been caught, he nods and starts to sob uncontrollably.

"Why are you crying? I'm not scolding you," she says.

At this point, I'm feeling quite out of place. I've never been around children much, particularly crying children. There isn't anything more I can do here. It might be time for me to slip away, but I am not so lucky as she notices my hasty exit.

"Hold on, I still don't understand. Why would you return them? I thought the point of your game was for one of you to take the children, " the woman says, puzzled.

"It's a rather short sighted game. I'd rather have your trust,"I say, and my word are true enough although I'm aware that she won't realize why that is until much later in the game. She smiles and puts Matthew down He is still staring at her as if he's never seen her smile. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

"For now, you have my trust, just make sure you don't do anything to lose it. Stay or go, I will not stop you either way," she says, checking on America. He is still sound asleep on the grass. Satisfied, she sits down to skin the deer she acquired.

Canada points to one of the unoccupied logs, clearly expecting me to stay with them tonight. The sun is setting, and my only other option is taking up France's offer from before. I don't see why not.

"Where would I sleep?" I ask. There is only one tent which is problematic and potentially uncomfortable for both of us. The woman doesn't turn but answers nonchalantly.

"On the ground."

"Would we be sharing the tent?" I ask instead. She has to give me a straight answer eventually. This seems to finally give her pause although she still refuses to look at me for whatever reason. The woman briefly glances at the children, and I'm quick to elaborate.

"To keep warm and such," I say.

"I will not refuse you shelter if you need it," she says, but the idea still doesn't sit particularly well with me. We haven't known each other long. She may not express it, but I feel she must has similar doubts. There is still time to return to France's camp instead, and it's tempting to seek shelter from the person I am more familiar with.

"I think it'd be best if I left. We'll talk some other time," I say.

"If that is what you wish," the woman says. Her tone hasn't changed in anyway, and I've no idea if I've offended her or not. Canada, on the other hand, waves goodbye, slightly disappointed. I know I've missed my chance to get closer to the children. One missed opportunity doesn't matter much in the long run I suppose. My goal isn't to integrate myself into their lives but to accustom them to mine.

The trip back to France's camp is short but agonizing, almost like waiting for a doctor to put leeches on your body. You know that it will hurt but at the same time, your other options aren't much better so you let the blasted things suck on you a while. Francis is already serving food to his men. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees me, but he offers me a smile soon after. The sentiment rings false, but I am only here because it is convenient so I let it go.

"Welcome, would you like some turtle soup?"

I nod gruffly and accept the meal. There are more spices in the soup than I am used to, and I reach for my canteen of water often. France notices.

"Can you not handle any sort of flavor, Arthur? Why wash such tasty food out of your system so quickly?" he asks. I roll my eyes.

"It's just a bit spicy. That's all."

Getting the idea that I don't particular dislike the meal, Francis drops the subject and finishes serving the men. Supper is otherwise uneventful, and I say little, hoping that we can tolerate each other for what remains of the day. Francis doesn't seem to mind my sudden muteness. They are talking of things that don't really concern me, fur trading in the north and the possibility of making more settlements there mostly. For now, I'm sticking to the coast.

The time eventually comes when there is scarcely any sunlight left for us to tell each other apart. Francis takes one last sip of wine and signals for me to follow him into his tent. I raise an eyebrow. He can't be serious. Perhaps, I should have risked a night with the savage.

"Would you rather spend the night with one of them? I have no spare tents," Francis says. I look at my prospects, some seem a little too eager to help, and my nerves get the best of me. I follow Francis inside. Thankfully, the sleeping arrangements are reasonable, and we are as far apart as humanly possible when we lay down to rest.

"Sweet dreams Angeterre," France says.

"My dreams are rarely sweet," I mutter.

"That is understandable. There are often times when even I am up at night reliving a memory, wishing I could have done something different. Are you the same?"

"Not really," I say, disliking the direction the conversation is going. France had been ready to call it a night before I said anything.

"So, there is nothing you regret?" he asks.

I sigh because that is not the case at all. Lately, there is much I have reconsidered. This place feels like a good place to start over, and yet, it is only temporary. I'll have to comeback home someday, but I'm afraid of what I'm might find when I get there.

"Yes but there is no use dwelling on the past. It can't be changed," I say.

"Ah, I suppose that is one way to look at it. For me, the past brings me a sense of peace. What has come before has allowed what is to be, and in the end, I can erase none of it without eliminating the good," France says.

What a sentimental old fool, I hope there doesn't come a day where I am the same.

"Would you still send that foolish farm girl into battle, already knowing the outcome?" I ask. My question hits a sore spot, but the flash of anger leaves and is replaced with something I can't quite identify, a passion I cannot fathom.

"Sacrifice is not worthless to me. Why would I rob her of her purpose and glory? She was meant to be my savior, no one else could have taken her place," he says firmly. I scoff, her tortured image ingrained into my cynical mind.

"She did not die a glorious death. The girl was shamed and broken by the time she was burned," I say, knowing full well it could cost me my shelter for the night.

Surprisingly, he says nothing. His silence is effective. The conversation is abruptly ended, and I am left with odd thoughts as I drift to sleep.

"You've done well so far, but they are right. Eventually, you'll have to marry. By staying single, you leave me vulnerable to attack." I feel like I've said that before. It is by no means the only thing that strikes me as familiar. Elizabeth is still young and vibrant.

"By staying single, I'm giving you options," she says, showing little to no concern over the matter. It used to anger me but I've come to realize that I was the one being a bit hasty.

"Perhaps, you're right, but how long do you expect to stall?" I ask. The words come out automatically because I am a prisoner to my own memory. No chance to do anything different.

"Relax Arthur, does our current peace not please you?"

"Yes but your safety concerns me. Today, they love you, but tomorrow, they might turn on you, particularly when there is another heir with a legitimate claim."

"I'm well aware. They did used to call me mama's little whore," she says, slightly bothered now. I've put her in a bad mood. It won't matter in a few minutes.

"And, now, you are their savior. Cheer up, I only want you taken care of," I say just as a man comes out of the bushes in front of us. This person is not one of the slow moving listless upperclass. His stride is quick and purposeful. Fire bursts from his fist before I can even uncork my flask and retaliate. Elizabeth succinctly blocks his attack and cripples him.

"I can take care of myself," she says, strangely calm despite the sudden danger.

The assassin tries to strike again, but I am prepared this time. My water whip easily penetrates his defenses, knocking him over. I should be relieved, but there is something deeply wrong with this man. He stands up again, walking toward me like a living corpse. His entire body seems to be half numb. Despite this, he attempts to maintain his speed and unleash a flash a fire at my face that will blind me and make me an easy target. I dodge but experience no heat from the blast. The man looks at his fist dumbly, no fire has come out. I can't help but be equally stupefied.

"I see," I say, not completely believing what I just witnessed.

"Can you please take care of that for me?" she asks me. I'd normally would without a second thought, but I have so many questions.

"Of course, but how did you-"

"Pay attention next time, if you really want to know" she says, snapping at me.

Elizabeth's expression makes it quite clear that no answers will be forthcoming so I drop the subject and take the opportunity to finish him off while he is disoriented and confused. I don't bother water bending and simply knock him unconscious with my fist. Elizabeth laughs, not used to seeing something as quaint as punching someone in the face. I take a closer look at him. He seems to be one of Spain's if I go by the dark hair and fair complexion. The boy is a little on the young side, but his discretion cannot go unpunished. I have no qualms sending him to the dungeon.

"I'm going to need a minute" I say, excusing myself. She just stands there, smirking as I drag the man away. This is just another failed assassination attempt to her. When I return, Elizabeth is staring off into the distance. There is a calculating look on her face that I've become intimately familiar with.

"I see you've been keeping busy," I say sarcastically.

"Yes, but I have to wonder if you're done nagging me yet."

"Come now, Elizabeth, there has to be someone who strikes your fancy."

"You skipped my meeting with parliament last week didn't you? "

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because if you had gone, you'd known already."

"So, you have made a decision,"I say and I can't help but feel oblivious in retrospect.

"In a way," she says, purposely vague. For someone that always claims to be innocent and pure, she's always taken pleasure in teasing me.

"Who is it?"

Elizabeth smiles but says nothing verbally. Instead, she comes toward me and pecks me on the cheek. I'm wide awake after that. The memories linger and leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Why must I think of the beginning when we are close to the end? Francis is awake as well. I imagine that I must look as distraught as he does right now.

"Were your dreams sweet tonight?"

"Yes," I admit finally. The sadness comes from another source entirely.

"Mine were not," he says.

"Would you like to talk about it?" I offer. I do owe him a favor for putting up with me tonight.

"No, she will not haunt me further. Return to sleep if you can and pray that I can do the same," Francis says.

The connection is easy to make, and my mind takes me away from my pleasant remembrances to a much darker place. This time to witness the end instead of the beginning.

"You have come to collect me," the girl says.

"Oh, is that so? Did the voices tell you that?" I'm mildly surprised. I did not believe her to be gifted supernaturally, but then again, I was and still am unlikely to believe anything coming from France's mouth.

"I hear many things. They said you will not be the one to take me so I am not worried," she says.

The nerve of this Joan to think she has a sliver of hope left. No matter, this is a simple errand, and I won't have to bare her company for very long. Soon, she will be the bishop's problem.

" While you are chained, the power you posses matters little. Metal is no friend to earth benders. The very thing that protects you, also hurts you. I don't think for a second that you'll best me" I say, confident that there won't be any complications. So what if she has almost escaped before, a rat will crawl into any hole it sees.

Even so, her stare is deep and penetrating, and for a brief second, I am hesitant to open her cell. She's waiting for something. I turn the key slowly trying to predict her next move before she makes it, but she remains perfectly still.

"England," she says once I open the lock.

"Yes?" The girl is small and pale although she has not yet succumb to hunger and hopelessness. I shouldn't be so nervous.

"I'd rather die than go with you."

All at once, things go terribly wrong. She snaps her chains as if they were annoying bits of string and rips the very fabric of her prison and hurls the bricks at me. My surprise is paralyzing and the first few bricks make contact. Two of these blows are inconsequential and result in a few dents in my armor. She is tactful though and the third smacks me right in the face. The pain prevents me from thinking rationally, and my first instinct is to strike back. After a few clear misses, I collect what is left of my water supply and heal myself before there is any permanent damage.

Predicting this, Joan runs past me and heads upstairs. What an idiot, there is no way to go but up, and I'll eventually back her into a corner. With this in mind, I take my time going up. She didn't even bother laying any sort of trap, but perhaps, she was expecting me to come after her sooner and didn't think that far ahead. On my way up, I pass some fallen guards. They're unconscious but alive, and for that, I respect her a little more. She could have easily to beaten them to a bloody pulp and been on her merry way. Pity, she'll be dead soon. The woman clearly had potential.

When I reach the top, Joan is standing on the very edge of the castle wall, looking down. Despite knowing her probable future, I can't but be concerned. Seeing someone die is never pleasant, you simply get used to it after a while. Considering how long I took to get up here, Joan must not be entirely sure she wants to jump. I don't want to hasten her demise in such a sinful manner.

"For God's sake, don't jump."

"If I jump, it will be for my sake alone," she answers, turning around.

"Are you really so desperate?"

"I have not known you to be kind, and those that have been kind have been equally treacherous. This is the only path remaining," she says.

Her resolve is astonishing. I'm not sure I've ever had as much faith as she seems to have.

"Why die if there is still a chance of living?"

She smiles, a secret smile. There is something I'm not getting.

"Who ever said that I planned to die today?"

She jumps, and at first, Joan glides through the air like she was born to fly. Brick by brick, she dances to safety, using the stones to slow her descent, but her triumph is short lived. Her concentration breaks as more knights become aware of her escape and throw their weapons at her. She knocks the weapons away, but the cost is steep. Joan plummets to the ground where the stones she wretched from the castle prove to be a disadvantage more than anything else. She is left bruised and bloodied on the ground.

This time, I run out the tower, a little afraid to bring a dead body to the priest, only to find a circle of knights inspecting her. There are exclaims of surprise. I come closer and see that she is still breathing. I sigh in relief. Amazing, it's simply amazing she survived. So amazing, that I'm having second thoughts about handing her over to be condemned. Maybe, she was meant for something more.

"Bring her inside," I say when the inspection runs too long. She's better off resting on a bed than having these uneducated brutes handle her.

Once inside, reality sets in, and the Duke of Burgundy and his entourage take over. The women in particular seem distraught to see Joan beat up by her own folly. She is quickly ushered out of my sight, and I'm left to deal with the Duke of Burgundy myself.

"Sorry, you had to see that. We often let her walk a top the tower. She must have gone mad to think she could fly away," Phillip says. I nod, reminding myself I am here on business. Whether Joan deserves redemption or not is not my decision to make, the priest are more than capable of making a judgement that leaves me out of the equation.

"It appears she will be far more difficult to transport than I realized. I can see why they sent me. I'd no idea she was a cut above the dirt pushers," I say conversationally. The man looks confused. Hmm, so, her abilities are not well known even in these parts.

"This may seem a tad unconventional but I'm going to need a lot of rope, and possibly, some type of potion or herb to keep her quiet if you have any."

"Yes of course, if you think that will keep her from hurting herself, we'll be glad to order a potion from the apothecary that will keep her complacent if you wish," Phillip says, seeming to truly mean well. Alas, in the end, I know that he sold her down the river for a few gold coins.

"Thank you for your kindness," I say, sincerely hoping treachery would not soon follow suit. I do not see Joan until the next morning.

"You were wrong. I will be the one to take you after all," I say. She laughs, a quiet little laugh. Joan is perfectly fine despite a few visible cuts and bruises. This gives me a peculiar sense of relief. She has a chance however slight of exiting this life with some dignity intact.

"No, I wasn't. I simply misunderstood what they wanted to tell me."

"And, what would that be?"

"They want me to be brave, and to do that, I must stand judgement, no matter the outcome. I will not be taken but escorted," she says.

To be honest, I find her conclusion to be a bit naive, but if it gives her comfort, I see no reason to take this small mercy away from her. At least this way, she is more likely to cooperate with me than not.

"Very well, if that is how you choose to look at it, I'll not fault you," I say.

"May I ask you one favor?"

"Go ahead," I say, wondering if she could really ask something of me that I can actually give her.

"Stay with me until the end. I'd like at least one face that doesn't want me dead at my trial," she says.

"I suppose I can do that," I say finally, wishing I hadn't agreed to the favor, not when I already know the outcome.

"Thank you for your kindness. Now if you excuse me, I must ask forgiveness to God for my actions just now and thank the angels for sparing me this day," she says, leaving me alone with an ever growing sense of dread. I'd rather wish I hadn't known her at all. I care far more than I should whether she lives or not.

This time, when I open my eyes, the sun is out, and I have no choice but to get out of bed. I am grateful. I don't think I can't handle another bout into the past. France, for one reason or another, is still in the tent with me.

"Tell me, did you dream of years gone by last night? " he asks.

"Yes," I say, seeing no use in lying this time. We both had disconcerting dreams last night. I do not think it was a coincidence.

"And, do you wish you could have changed the outcome?" France asks again. I have to wonder what he means by all of this. The past still cannot be changed. No matter what I might regret or even miss.

"Yes, sometimes I wish I could."

"Then, maybe, we might yet still see eye to eye someday," he says, leaving me alone to think for a while. When I leave, I return to town and have a drink with Roger. I don't want to regret, missing anything this time around.

* * *

_**After giving it some thought, I decided that I preferred having one point of view per chapter so Alfred will be getting his own chapter next time. Thank you for reading and tell me what you think. **_


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